When you’re irritated at life in general, what do you do?
Apparently, I cook.
My frustrations are meted out on the pots and pans, and what comes out (at least last night) is macaroni salad, brats and Italian sausage and sautéed peppers n’ onions, and some nice steamed broccoli.
I was feeling out of sorts yesterday, ticked off at myself for having too much party the night before and feeling like crap for most of the day. It’s not a pretty thing to experience, this self-loathing, you know? Why do I even bother? I’m the one who chose to WHEE it up, and so I should be OK with paying the price, but yesterday was just one of those days when the little Puritan in my head was on a major soapbox, and the other voices chose to listen to her babble on and on about things like ‘responsibility’ and “maturity.”
Being afmiliar with the Puritan, I know what to do. I shut her up with 2 ibuprofen and a drink. Then I got to cooking. And washing dishes, and clearing the clutter off the kitchen table (can’t STAND clutter). When my snit was exorcized, there was a nice meal on the table, a clean kitchen, and some semblance of organization in one of the four rooms of the Tiny House.
OK, 1.5 rooms, because I also cleaned the litterbox and swept the laundry room.
(An aside: why can’t cats keep the litter IN the box? Why do they find it necessary to track little bits of litter all over the floor? Were they raised in a BARN or something? Also, who tells them that the box is clean, so that 5 seconds after it’s put it down all scooped out with some nice fresh litter added in, they come barreling into the zone to lay a steamer right on top? Fuckers.)
So dinner was good. I was over my snit. The headache was gone. Life improved steadily from there. I actually stayed awake until some godawful time last night, playing around on the intertubez and waiting for the rain to start. Late-night thunderstorms rolled through the area, lighting up the sky and cooling down the temps. Glorious. Made sleeping a thing of great depth, with nary a dream to sully the perfect blankness.
It’s rare that I don’t dream. Some nights I begin dreaming before I’m actually asleep. That’s kind of freaky, isn’t it? Last night though – no dreams. I woke up when the alarm went off, completely refreshed. That doesn’t usually happen either. Normally I’m batting at the snooze for a good half an hour, willing the sun to go retrograde and give me back another couple of hours of sweet sweet slumber. Does a snitty day normally precede a good one? I hope so. Maybe the mood swings are self-leveling, and this good day will be followed by a stretch of the normal “I’m doing just fine” kinds of days I like to have and have gotten so very used to of late. Being happy rocks. Being happy and well rested is like feeding jet fuel to a Studebaker (if that’s possible). What has been perfectly serviceable becomes thrilling, what was comfortable becomes notable. It's a nice change.
Anyhow. I’m not angry anymore. I can talk in my regular voice, not the low growl I affect when out of sorts, the Mama Bear kind of tone that is recognizable the world over by children and astute friends as a clear “hands-off.” It’s not anything that I can control (to a large extent), but being as how I don’t much care for ‘that voice,’ am glad it’s gone.
Maybe the rain did it. Who knows?
This is Day Three of the Goodwill countdown. Thought you’d like to know. The clothes are still in the kitchen.
But I did pile them neatly on an unused chair. Progress is being made.
Thing 1 made a request to me yesterday when I was in Mama Bear mode. It was simple, really. He wanted one of the recliners that came out of my bedroom for HIS room. He’d pulled aside the armchair that was in the Things’ room, showing me where he wanted to put the new one, proud of his planning.
And what did I do?
I turned him down, brusquely saying “there’s no room for another chair in here. Certainly not.”
He, understandably, was disappointed, but began moving the first chair back in place as ordered. He's a good boy like that.
Later, as I was working in/stomping around the kitchen, I heard him telling a friend who was over for dinner that he wanted the chair because it’s one that his Grandfather sat in when he was alive.
If you guessed that my heart cracked a little at those words, you'd be right.
So, the ratty old chair I got for free last year fell victim to last night's thunderstorms. The new-to-them Grandpa recliner is now ensconced in the Things’ room. I’d like to think that maybe my Dad would come down from time to time and set a spell with the boys, checking in on them, seeing how they grow. He’d like the chair they now have in their room, of that much I’m sure.
That’s it from here today. I’m off to make something of the Tuesday before me, and hope you have a great one.